


Confounding

by tiamatv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Masturbation, Photography, Sam probably understands color theory even if I don't, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: Confound (v)1.	To cause surprise or confusion, especially by acting against expectations.2.	To blend two elements so that the individual elements become difficult to distinguish.3.	To distort an estimated measure of association when the primary exposure of interest is mixed with another factor associated with the outcome.Or: Dean really should have thought about it a little longer before putting in that anal plug.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 211





	Confounding

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered [this absolutely beautiful bit of fanart](https://licieoic.tumblr.com/post/615683708267134976/posing-digital-oil-painting-sam-said-to-put) by Licieoic this morning and, upon realizing just how much I wanted to read fanfic about it, well. Here we are. 
> 
> Please go look at that lovely piece of work. I have no doubt you will drool as much as I did.
> 
> This is unbetaed, because right now I'm blushing too hard to send it to a beta reader.

Dean had to admit, he hadn’t been… thinking much when he’d put in the plug this morning.

He didn’t have a lot of them, but he did have a few. This one was his favorite, and he did _not_ wear it when he thought there was any chance he was going to have to move at anything more than a stiff walk, because _fuck_. But this was something that he wanted today. They’d just gotten back from a hunt, _no-one_ was injured (that should’ve been a reason for celebration for itself, in Dean’s opinion) and Cas had told them, serious as a heart attack, that he was going to hang around for a bit even though he’d gotten himself all juiced back up. So… why not?

Well, there were probably a few reasons why not, but all Dean had been able to think about as he’d slicked it up with a squeeze of silicone lube was ‘ _It’s been too damned long.’_

This plug wasn’t like the silicone ones he had. Not that there was anything bad about those—when Dean wanted something to slip in and hold they were just fine. It wasn’t even that this one was that big—maybe just about an inch and a half at its widest point. It wasn’t hard to get in once he got himself warmed up nice. It had a tapered bulb head and a long stem with enough of a curve in it that if he wanted to angle it in to press that thick head right on his prostate he could, capped off with a big O-ring at the end that rubbed real nicely between his ass cheeks when he was wearing it (and, luckily, was easy to grab even with lubed-up fingers. Design features, man.)

But the smooth, rigid cold of the stainless steel metal made his body clench up when he reached back and stroked the rounded tip of the plug in slow circles around his pucker, getting the thicker, heavier lube that he used just for it everywhere. Most of the silicone plugs that he had were kind of… a reminder, more than anything, after the sweet little ‘pop’ of pressure and ache going in? Even the bigger ones shifted and moved with him, but it was an easy feeling, and Dean liked that a lot sometimes. Liked feeling full, but not wrecked with it—the way a guy could be kinda turned on and not have an uncomfortable full-on boner.

This, though? There was no give to it. It wasn’t just when he was sitting down—he felt it when he moved, he felt it when he _breathed,_ felt every twitch and twist when he clenched up. With as heavy as it was, he _had_ to squeeze against it as he moved, its weight slipping it inside him—he didn’t actually think it would ever fall out even with as heavy as it was, but the pressure of it, the _threat_ of it was there, always tugging. More than once he’d thought about what it would be like to get his cock in someone while he had this plug inside him, how it’d rub and push and bounce with every thrust—dammit, he wasn’t thinking about who, now that Cas was _staying_ that was even weirder than it normally—

Dean really needed to stop thinking about it. Just because his body was completely used to perving on a certain nerdy rebel angel didn’t mean that he thought it was _okay_.

So he cleared his head of that, and just let himself breathe and stretch out and _feel_ , tucking just the tip of the plug inside him in little thrusts—nothing more than that. One more squirt of lube, then that heavy, deep press, and he maybe wasn’t _quite_ ready yet but there was something about that that lit him up hot. It was kind of like what he’d always imagined being fucked should feel like—not pain, but just that little edge of impatience. Yeah, it burned some, but he breathed into it as the head of the plug settled into him, sliding deeper on its own weight until it was resting nestled all the way inside him. The solid weight of the O-ring pressed secure and sweet between his cheeks, and he adjusted it carefully before he rolled slowly back to his feet.

Damn, _damn_ that felt good. It was a heavy, slow press, comfortable and foreign in the best of ways, and Dean gave his cock just one cautious, indulgent stroke before climbing himself gingerly into his boxers and jeans.

He couldn’t keep this plug in for more than a half hour or so when he was dressed and up and around. It wasn’t because it got uncomfortable—the opposite, actually, because even with boxers on there were times before that his cock had gotten wet enough from just the stimulation that the zipper of his own jeans started to chafe. But he’d just walk around a bit and enjoy it, maybe grab some breakfast, chug a whole thing of water, then…

…run right into a Sasquatch with a fancy camera hanging from a strap around his neck as Sammy was leaving the library. Dean studied the blocky, heavy thing dangling at his little brother’s chest for way too long, partially because his brain was not at all firing on all cylinders right now, and partially because, well, what _was_ that? First of all, the last time Dean had seen something like that it was from a girl who’d fancied herself an artist (and Dean wasn’t gonna deny that, she really had been creative) and second, since when did Sammy have one? Wasn’t this what they had cellphones for nowadays?

“What are you wearing?” Sam gave Dean’s messy hair a betrayed look. “Come _on_ , you can’t wear that.”

Dean looked down at his jeans and his old AC-DC t-shirt with a flannel thrown over it. The only reason he wasn’t wearing his dead guy robe was because, well, he liked to be really comfortable, but if he was going to have naked time after that was just a little too creepy. “What?” he asked, blankly.

Come to think, why _was_ Sammy wearing a button-down? And a _tie?_ Did they have a local case that he didn’t know about? Except that wasn’t a suit, and the button-down was dark green and the tie was gold. Dean was definitely missing something. Dammit—

“You forgot.” Sam stared at him accusingly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe you forgot. Dean, we _just_ talked about this! Just last week! Look, I’ve got everything set, Cas is already dressed, it’s just… ” He grabbed Dean by the shoulders and bodily turned him around. Dean almost tripped over his own toes as he caught his balance and that kind of— _jarred_ —and Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with _you_ , Sammy?” Dean retorted, and he straightened the rest of the way back to his feet.

Sam threw up both hands and did everything but toss his hair. “We’re taking pictures, Dean. We were gonna surprise Mom when she comes next week? Remember?” He sighed loudly at what was probably Dean’s expression. “Come _on,_ man, we’re all ready, get dressed.”

Oh. Shit. _Shit._

“Sam, this really isn’t—” Dean started weakly, but Sam was already talking over him, and Dean was a little afraid that if he didn’t start heading towards his room Sam would actually push him.

Sam stabbed a finger at Dean’s nose, his eyes narrowed and alight with a scary sort of purpose. Which Dean did understand, as little as he wanted to—he’d _known_ Mary Winchester growing up, even if it hadn’t been for long enough, and Sam… well, he hadn’t. “If you’re not in the library in five minutes, I’m sending Cas to get you,” and since that was perhaps the only thing that was even marginally worse than Sammy coming to get him, there went Dean’s plan of getting the plug out before going to get fucking _pictures_ taken.

So yeah, he maybe should have thought a little harder about things before putting it in. Still, whatever, okay, awkward, but it’d be _fine_. He’d fought through pain and blood loss before, this was… not even remotely the same, but he could handle this. Dean was doing up the buttons on a dark grey button-down that someone had once told him brought out his eyes as he sauntered into the library, can-do attitude first.

He had to admit: the sight of Cas sitting in one of the library chairs, looking squinty and put-upon as Sammy towered over him from behind and carefully ran a comb through Cas’s thick, dark hair? That just about made Dean’s _year_.

(And if it made something squeeze warm and soft behind his sternum, well, Dean would never tell.)

He also didn’t have any stubble, his chin was smooth and bare as the curve of an apple. Dean had to admit he liked Cas’s eternal dark peach fuzz, but he tried to remember the last time he’d seen him clean-shaven. He hadn’t been this clean-shaven when they’d first _met_.

Also, _Jesus,_ what was Cas wearing? That blazer wasn’t Jimmy’s, it was sort of a color halfway between brown and green and actually _fit_ him, and the dark-wash jeans under it were low on his hips, cut through with a wide belt. No tie. Even with the blazer and all Cas looked sort of naked without one. The whole thing made his shoulders and the clean line of his neck look like they went on forever, and his shirt…

“Baby blue, Sam?” Dean managed, only sounding a little bit petulant. Okay, never mind that without his signature trenchcoat, the dark blazer and not-white shirt showed off that Cas’s shoulders were probably just as broad as Dean’s. The way the combination lit his blue, blue eyes, though…

“It’s periwinkle.” Sam didn’t look up as he teased the part of Cas’s hair with the comb in his hand and Cas squinted a little harder. “I’ve got one for you, too, but I thought the whole matching thing might be a little too on the nose, and Cas looks better in light colors than we do.”

Dean didn’t even want to know how Sam knew that, and he had the sinking feeling that if he asked he’d find out how he looked in… periwinkle.

Dean didn’t sit down as Sam stood Cas up, frog-marched him over towards the bookshelves—Cas wasn’t resisting at all, but he really did look confused by this whole business, twisting to give both Dean and Sam looks that were practically begging for an explanation. Dean didn’t really have one for him, so all he could do was raise both hands in a shrug.

Sam patted Cas’s shoulder with one big paw, careful not to dislodge any of the work he’d done on Cas’s now-neat hair. “Just… relax, Cas. Smile for the pictures.”

Castiel was looking at the camera in Sam’s hands with interest, though. “The concept of an image reproduction stealing one’s soul has existed for hundreds of years,” he announced. “I don’t have a soul, but I don’t see why this doesn’t concern you two. How certain are you that this camera isn’t cursed?”

Anyone who hadn’t known Castiel for as long as they had would not, Dean thought, have seen the flicker of a smile flirting at the corners of his eyes and just barely tipping up one side of his full, pink mouth.

“That’s not funny.” But Sam raised the camera and, clickclick, snapped a picture.

It kind of was. Dean was laughing. He really shouldn’t—for more than one reason—but he was.

Castiel’s efforts at _intentionally_ smiling for the camera, though, lifting his lips like he was checking for spinach between his teeth, were also so _Cas_ that they made Dean snicker—so Sam got a picture of Cas glaring at Dean across the library, too. Hey, if their Mom wanted authentic pictures, that was about as authentic as they all got, right?

“Um, no, never mind, just… okay. Never mind.” Sam wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. “I think we’ve got… yeah, okay.” He undid the camera strap from around his neck and turned towards Dean—for about a heartbeat before he redirected, and held the camera out to Cas.

Cas took it, turning it in his hands as carefully as he handled three-hundred-year-old spellbooks and the Grumpy Cat doll he’d bought for Claire, but gave Sam a familiar quizzical look.

“Hey!” Dean protested.

“Yes?” Sam asked, sweetly.

“You’re gonna give the camera to the guy who’s holding it like a nuclear warhead?”

Did Dean want to move from his position standing perfectly still here? No, he didn’t. Would Sammy think it was suspicious if he didn’t say anything? Yes, yes he would.

“I have every confidence that someone who can talk about time in terms of partial differential equations can figure out aperture width, ISO, and shutter speed,” and with that particular bit of Angels According to Sam Winchester, he started pointed buttons and lenses and things out to Cas. Cas crinkled up his eyebrows and nodded along like he was making angelfire Molotov cocktails again.

Dean allowed himself just a tiny smile at the sight of them, the bubble of warmth rising in him again once he was sure neither of them was looking at him. _Nerds_. Yeah, this was his family, whatcha gonna do ‘bout it.

He should have expected it when Cas tapped a finger on the side of the lens thoughtfully, and raised the camera in _his_ direction rather than Sam’s. “Hey!” he complained, uncrossing his legs to straighten up and—

Oh, right. Yeah. Moving did _that_.

Sam laughed, looking down at the back of the camera as Cas showed the picture to him. Damned angel even looked _proud_ of himself. “Hey, yeah! That’s pretty good, Cas!”

Dean raised his middle finger towards the jokers over there, but at least Sammy making like Blue Steel over there and Cas taking slow, deliberate pictures, fiddling with the settings on the evil soul-stealing box, gave him time to settle himself back down, breathe into the heavy, _good_ pressure inside him until it wasn’t occupying most of his brain and all of his cock anymore.

Right. Plug. Okay. He could do this.

“I ain’t moving,” he announced, when both of them turned towards him. But he flashed his best shit-eating grin towards Sammy and didn’t even stick out his tongue, and Sam sighed and took a few pictures anyway.

“Yes, God forbid you even try to be cooperative,” Sam muttered, lowering the camera to check the pictures again.

Cas visibly crinkled, and opened his mouth.

“Don’t even start, you _know_ that’s an expression, Cas.” Sam was clearly so done with the both of them. He waved Cas towards Dean’s side of the library.

Dean grinned at Cas, and dropped him a wink. It wouldn’t work on Sam, but anyone else? Golden. “C’mon, Sammy, let the guy have his fun, no-one does clueless and badass better,” he wheedled.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas turned towards him, smiling a little—the best kind, Dean thought, since Cas almost never laughed aloud, but if you knew where to look you could see it on his face; if you listened well sometimes you could hear it shaking just underneath that perfect gravel of his voice.

He didn’t look away, neither of them did—they’d been playing eyeball chicken for as long as they’d known each other—and Dean wasn’t even surprised to hear the click and whirr of the camera going off. A couple of times.

The pictures of the three of them weren’t bad, either—all three of them standing in a line together and waiting for the timer, Sam in the middle and both of his stupidly long arms draped over either of their shoulders. Simple, easy. Piece of cake. Hell, pie. Dean deserved pie after all this, for how good he was being.

After he had the kind of orgasm that left his brain whited out, anyway.

The plug shifting inside him wasn’t uncomfortable as long as he didn’t move too quickly: he pretty much always felt it was there and it was kind of distracting, but it wasn’t knocking him to his knees as much as it could. He was only about half-hard now, maybe not even, and since he was already wearing his darkest pair of jeans, he was pretty sure no-one could tell.

He could do this.

Of course, then Sam wanted to pose the two of _them_ , him and Cas, and that… that was going… exactly as ridiculously as Dean had thought it would.

“This is difficult,” Cas muttered, peering down at the picture Sam had walked over to show them. Dean had his arms crossed and one shoulder dipped, and he looked pretty fucking good, if he did say so himself. Cas had one hand outstretched towards him, sure—but Cas was also standing far enough from him to imply that Dean might have leprosy, just his fingertips resting on Dean’s shoulder. His mouth was half-open with words. Had to admit that a picture was bad when even someone who was normally made up of light and intent could see it.

Dean swallowed a hysterical laugh. At least Cas hadn’t said that it was _hard_.

“Hey, Cas, that’s not…” Sam blew out what sounded like an exasperated breath, and looked at them over the top of his fancy camera as he stalked back to his position impatiently. “C’mon, what happened? Everything was fine before, now you both look like you’re in front of a firing squad. Cas, put your arm _around_ Dean, pull him in, or something. Dean, uncross your arms, it looks hostile.”

Dean would have rolled his eyes. He _did_ roll his eyes. “ _You’re_ hostile,” he retorted.

Then, because the universe was pretty determined to blow the sarcasm out of Dean Winchester, Cas huffed softly at the two of them and did put an arm around him.

Around Dean’s waist.

All around Dean’s waist, forearm tucking against his side.

Dean had about one second where he was about to laugh and nudge Cas with an elbow, tell him that his arm ought to be around Dean’s _shoulders_ if he was gonna do the buddy pose—except rather than that hand stopping on Dean’s hip, it kept going. Around. And kept—

A thumb swooped into Dean’s belt loop, and four fingers settled right along a path of perfect good intentions—three fingertips testing right into the crease where Dean’s groin met his thigh, index finger curved and the side of it molding lightly right alongside Dean’s bulge.

What. The. Everlasting—

Dean had less than a second to process this before Cas _tugged_ , in and towards, and Dean’s ass tapped very lightly against the rasp of jeans to jeans, really much too close to the fine, firm line of Castiel’s right hipbone.

This would have been kind of intimate looking even if Dean _hadn’t_ had a plug inside him, and the curved, rigid edge of the O-ring of said plug, even with the fact that Dean had a pretty round ass, was going to be nestled up against Cas if they got any closer. Which, they weren’t. They wouldn’t. Right. His groin, his thigh, his hip—Dean wasn’t sure, but the _knowledge_ of it sparked a firework behind his eyes that he couldn’t put out. He could feel Cas, Hell, he could _smell_ him, a little dark and a little sharp, like a spot where lightning had hit the ground.

This had not been one of Dean’s better ideas. _Fuck_.

“Hey, yeah, that’s good!” There was a soft click of the photo, and Dean tipped his head to the sky, managed a grin for this one. “Little—oh, that’s perfect, turn your chin, Cas, maybe a little to the—” Sam was in full on nerdy directoral mode now, clicking away, he’d clearly missed his calling, when Dean’s brains weren’t about to leak out of his cock he was totally gonna be teasing his little brother about this.

“Like this?” Cas asked. Dean didn’t have to see it to know that Cas was doing his owl impression, that little tip-tilt to the side when humans didn’t make any sense to him but he was putting up with them anyway.

But he _definitely_ felt it when his ass got pulled right back against the shallow cradle of Cas’s hip, and oh. Fuck.

Yeah, that… that felt like a jolt, the twitch of the plug in him felt sharp and amazing and obscene, that felt _exactly_ like he’d thought it would and Dean had not been prepared for it at _all_.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded concerned. Right now Dean didn’t have the processing power to figure out if that was because his eyes were squeezed shut or because Sam might actually be able to see that Dean was so hard that it did hurt right now. It really did, a deep, terrible throbbing ache that was going from front to back and front again, and Cas’s fingers resting about a breath away? Just. Not. Helping. “Are you… okay? What happened?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean gritted out between his teeth, because right now just not biting into the inside of his cheek and drawing blood was about all the effort he could spare from not pressing his ass back against Cas’s hip, or grabbing Cas’s hand and putting it just a little—just a little—“Just… y’know, I… uh, I think I pulled a muscle last night, I’m gonna…”

Sammy might have said something in response to that, but he might not have. Dean made himself wrench away from the maybe-not-actually-an-angel maybe-a-sex-demon behind him and hobbled into the corridor, fuck, he was so fucking turned on right now. Dean was pretty sure he could make it to his room safe and without coming in his pants like a teenager as long as no-one else trailed their stupidly long fingers along the crease of Dean’s groin.

He slammed into his door and stumbled in, teeth still clenched to keep himself from groaning with relief as he got a hand around the knob and went to shove it closed—

In retrospect, complaining about how he might be a bit injured was a really stupid thing to do when he had an angel who could _heal him_ standing just off to the side. The same angel whose firm, lean, jeans-clad thigh Dean had wanted to grind his plugged-up ass against until, well, until—

The door slapped against a broad shoulder from where Cas was standing in the doorway of Dean’s room. He didn’t blink at the impact.

Dean jumped, and oh _fuckity_ _fuck fuck_ moving that fast, intentionally or not, had been a bad idea. Dean gasped, because it was either gasp or yowl, and sagged a shoulder against the wall because otherwise he was going to topple against _Cas._ And do something really, really stupid. Possibly stupider than wearing a metal butt plug to a photoshoot where the angel he’d had the hots for forever was going to practically put his hand on Dean’s cock and shove his hip against Dean’s ass.

Okay, even with Dean’s luck he couldn’t have known about that part.

“Do you need assistance, Dean? I—” Except this time Cas didn’t reach out and tap Dean’s forehead, he reached out and put a hand on Dean’s _thigh_ , and—

It wasn’t quite an orgasm, but it was too fucking close. It had been a really long time since he’d actually felt himself spurt a little into his boxers, and half the muscles in his pelvis seized and tingled. Dean closed his eyes and curled around himself and shuddered.

“Dean, you have…” he didn’t have to see the puzzlement on Cas’s face to be able to hear it. “There is an object inside you…?”

Oh. Yeah. Angel diagnostics.

Dean wanted to have to explain this approximately as much as he wanted Apocalypse v3.0. “Yeah, uh, I,” and there was a ‘stick in the ass’ joke somewhere, maybe a ‘get out of my ass, Cas,’ somewhere, maybe he could just—whatever it took to make Castiel _leave_. He wrenched his eyes open, felt his eyelashes clinging at each other.

But all of his bravado and bullshit drained right away with one look at Cas’s face—not squinting, no, but with his head cocked, hair still so unnaturally neat for the photo shoot that it was all Dean could do to keep from reaching out and sticking both his hands into it to muss it up some. “You’re… aroused,” Cas observed, quietly.

He was, he wasn’t, he didn’t know if what he was feeling right now was desire or spontaneous combustion or _what._ Dean couldn’t even lose his erection with the way the metal was rubbing smooth and silky against his prostate right now, and he couldn’t quite straighten all the way up to make it stop doing that with the way his belly muscles were quivering. “Yeah, that’s none of your—”

“May I assist?”

Dean paused. Everything in him went still. He found out that maybe he could stand up straight after all.

“What?” he asked, way too carefully for such a simple syllable. Because it wasn’t a fucking simple question at _all_. If Cas thought that being horny needed _healing_ that was going to be another come-to-humanity that… that nope, Sammy was taking that one, Dean was _out_.

And yet. That was Cas’s serious face, all right. That was his ‘take me seriously’ face. But there was something…

“With your…” Cas trailed off like he couldn’t figure out where he wanted to go with that, but Dean was staring at him now. Caught the way Cas’s eyes skimmed across his shoulders, his hands, before returning up to meet Dean’s gaze—the tip of an absurdly pink tongue skirting across Cas’s full bottom lip. “Your arousal.”

Dean couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation standing in his bedroom in the bunker with a sex toy rubbing along inside him, sure, but Dean couldn’t believe they were having this conversation _at all_. How long ago had it been that they’d had to have that talk about how an angel blade wasn’t an adequate form of ‘protection’ for anything other than a _murder attempt_?

Okay, that thought sobered him up again, quieted down where Dean’s cock had been doing so much thinking it probably could’ve gone right to university. Dean even managed a small, shaky laugh. “Cas, buddy, trust me, I’ve been taking care of my own ‘arousal’ for most of my life, you don’t—”

“I’m aware. I _want_ to,” Cas told him, and that stopped Dean cold, shut down all brain like a light bulb exploding.

Cas licked his lower lip again, and _that_ was what was different, _that_ was why Dean was having a harder time looking away from his eyes than he normally did even on his best days: Cas’s pupils were blown out, dark and full enough to almost swallow the gorgeous blue of his eyes, and Jesus, _Jesus._ Dean could feel the pull of those eyes right now as much as he could feel the plug inside him and wasn’t that just fucking _something?_ “I have come to understand… arousal… a little better," Cas murmured, shaky, his deep voice silk and top-shelf bourbon. "And… with you, Dean, I… I think perhaps it’s always…”

That was his name, in the middle of that stumbling explanation that was making no sense at all in Dean’s heat-fogged brain. That was _his_ name.

There was a bed not five steps from them, so Dean could not have explained why they were making out against the wall. But they were. They really were, both of their pants were open and still on, they were both still wearing their _boxers_ , what were they, goddamned teenagers? But for all that, Cas’s lips were so soft, softer than Dean had ever thought they were going to be. He kissed with the involved concentration of an angel praying and ground his cock into Dean’s groin with all the shaky enthusiasm of someone seeing a marathon finish line they never thought they’d reach.

And Dean got that. He _got that_.

Yeah, who needed to be naked anyway?

Cas had a hand nestled sweetly at the base of Dean’s spine, under his shirt—like a grounding pad or a lever to tilt their hips together, either or, Dean wasn’t even sure yet. Now it was sliding downwards and meandering into the back of Dean’s boxers. Dean almost bit right into Castiel’s lip when those same damnable fingertips feathered lightly against the crease of his ass. Touched metal, and the slight wobble of the plug still in him lit up nerves Dean hadn’t even realized he had.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas murmured, with something that sounded like wonder. “Oh, I see.” A finger slid carefully into the rigid loop of the O-ring and _tugged_ , and—

Yeah, oh yeah—this was definitely, and officially, Dean’s favorite plug.

*_*_*_*

Sam left the picture just outside his bedroom a week later, tapping on the door just once before he skedaddled. Or at least Dean assumed it was Sam. If it wasn’t he didn’t want to think about it. But there was no-one in the hallway when Dean cracked the door grumpily, just a glossy picture staring up at him from the floor.

Dean was not afraid to admit that he cackled out loud when picked it up and took a good look, though. Yeah, all right, Dean himself looked like a fucking idiot, trying so hard for casual with his arms and ankles crossed and not making it at _all_. Cas’s expression, though, was just so _perfect_ —the little tip of his head to the side, no smile at all, just the slightest crinkle of his brows. He’d have looked completely innocent, he’d have looked completely _himself_ , if not for the fact that with the position of his fingers, just a little lower and to the side, he was about two inches from putting his hand on Dean’s crotch and announcing _“Mine.”_

“Can’t believe I was fooled for so long.” Dean announced with a laugh, pushing the door shut with his foot and still grinning at the picture. “You totally knew what you were doing all along, you fucking smug angel.”

Cas hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder—it was his new favorite position when it was just the two of them—and peered at the glossy in Dean’s hand. “I didn’t.” He contemplated it, solemnly, leaning against Dean’s back with a mouthwatering little roll of his hips to settle them together. “I don’t think we should give that to Mary. Your expression in it is… compelling.”

Dean didn’t mention that if Sam had left it outside Dean’s bedroom and then run _,_ there was approximately zero chance of their mom ever seeing it because sometimes Sammy was a really _good_ brother. “Compelling, huh?” He grinned over his shoulder. Dean was never going to get over the way the angel put things, sometimes. It didn’t even really sound like a compliment, except for the fact that Cas honestly seemed to mean it as one.

“Very,” Cas confirmed.

“Nerd,” Dean told him, fondly.

“Perhaps.” Cas’s hand nestled warm and sweet against the curve of his hip, and like he was closing a salt circle, his nose and lips nuzzled against Dean’s neck on the other side. “Come back to bed, Dean.”

Dean went.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> @sacados is also to blame, because of this: "i feel like the secret story is that Dean's wearing the plug and grinding back on Cas's leg." Yes indeed.
> 
> If anyone is truly interested, [this](https://www.njoytoys.com/product/pure-plug/) is what Dean was wearing around.


End file.
